A World You May Not Understand
by sol113
Summary: In the 21st century, war, disease, terror and tyranny have made humanity and nature disconnect, one such disconnected person is Violet Song Jat Sharif, only two things make her feel alive again...


**A WORLD YOU MAY NOT UNDERSTAND**

 **AUTHORS NOTES**

 **This is an Ultraviolet fic, takes place before the movie.**

 **' _This_ ' means someone is thinking.**

 **Italics alone means the name of something, i.e. _Archministry_.**

 **Horizontal ruler (a line across the page) means a page break or timeskip, it may be a few minutes, it may be a few hours...**

 **-X- means a scene change.**

 **Disclaimer; I do not own Ultraviolet or any of the characters or ideas involved. This is non profit-I am making no money from this.**

* * *

 **Chicago, 2078...**

The city of Chicago had come a long way since being burnt to the ground in the panic fueled riots following the discovery of "Vampirism" and the subsequent, devastating first stages of the Blood War. Or some parts had at least, the slums of decades past had been incinerated by the military, by crazed lynch mobs and later by the Archministry, supposedly to deny the Vampires (or Hemophages as the men of science called them) there use as bases, any squatters or transients caught in the purges were declared infected and they were swept away as dust. In their place was a "city of the future"; towers of shining steel and _ceramacrete_. Strong walls and doors to keep people safe, security drones and cameras were everywhere to keep people safe. Clean and pure air was delivered via transgenic plants and O2 recycling technology and third generation Fusion power kept the great city moving.

People walked in thin, comfortable clothing, the weather report declared calm weather and Chicago was one of the few cities on Earth to have a fully functioning weather control matrix. Other places suffered frequently disastrous weather due to global warming; Colorado for example recently experienced snowstorms that killed fifteen people.

On a maglev train, Violet Song Jat Sharif watched the city speed by beneath her, above her, outside her. Absently carrying a box of Transgenic chicken nuggets in an insta-heating packet with a glass of milk delivered from T-gen cows. She ate the genetically modified food, then drank the altered milk.

She barely tasted the food, Violet had long been numb, she had lost everything that made life bright and beautiful and now was barely more than an automation; walking, fighting, killing. Being discovered twelve years ago to have vampirism, being taken from her family, being subjected to brutal, grotesque experiments, having her unborn child terminated by uncaring masked scientists straight from the vein of Joseph Mengele. Being subjected to the Tank- a device that broke will and rebuilt a persona via neural implantation, the painful genetic modification to mutate the mostly harmless Hemoglophagic virus into something far more, the agonizing surgeries, the endless training in combat, infiltration, assassination... turning her from a nurse and loving wife to a biological engine of death and destruction.

No one else in the closed off and insular city saw that though; if they bothered to look they'd see only a slender and beautiful woman, an attractive face cold and mechanical, her walk dangerous, her clothing was smart materials daringly tight with her flat midriff showing bare flesh.

She looked around, seemingly ignoring everything. In fact she saw all and simply didn't care.

The train stopped and Violet got off. In her jacket's pocket was _'Blur'_ ; her personal 'dumb AI' that constantly filtered her appearance from _The Grid_ ; the network of cameras and drones that monitored the population. Courtesy of Garth, the Hemophage resistances tech genius, the device had kept the spectacular and not too subtle woman off the Ministry's radar for quite a while.

Humanity was as segregated as ever; all around her poor and middle class walked with masks and hoods and gloves, terrified of infection. The rich, flanked by security walked unmasked, some showing daring amounts of skin (like V) confident in their nanomachine and meta-immune enhancements to protect them from the micro menace.

A short stride from the maglev station was her destination; _The Homunculus' Dungeon_ , a private club catering for a very particular clientele.

Violet entered the building, after being greeted by the receptionist she was directed to room 216.

One elevator ride later and Violet strode empress-like to the room, not caring about the various sordid acts going on in the soundproof rooms.

V stepped into the room, built of soundproofed walls decorated in smart wallpaper that could change colors to match the occupant's desires, right now they were a neutral white color. Other decorations included holopanels V knew could generate various sized images of TV channels and recordings such as sexual intercourse scenes. The floor was simple but comfortable clothing. Soft music played, relaxing, but also capable of settings to 'induce' emotional states such as arousal via auditory sonic manipulation. The smart window slowly changed transparent to show the glimmering night city.

In the middle of the luxurious room she saw a male already waiting for her; tall, Caucasian, blond, tall and athletically built, he looked like a male model.

 _'Liaison clone, standard model...'_

"Ms Alice?" The male asked.

"Yes." Came a flat reply, strong yet barely above a whisper.

"I will be your partner for this liaison, are there any parameters or rules you wish to state?"

"We follow my lead."

"Very well, shall we begin?" With that he began removing his clothes, _'Ms Alice'_ began removing hers; pulling her gloves off, taking her coat, folding it, placing it on a chair, unzipping her top, removing her bra, removing her knee high boots, peeling her skin tight pants off and finally removing her underwear. She did this without hurry, or concern that the stranger was watching her every move...

Violet was here for a 'liaison', a sexual business transaction. Fear of infection and society's increasingly insular nature had killed the singles bar scene.

Plague scares had made society even more insular. Liaisons began with men and women randomly and repeatedly screened to prove they weren't infected, some had modifications to facilitate sex; enhanced penis size and girth, blanked semen- they produced sperm- more than normal humans- but the reproductive cells lacked the ability to fertilize eggs so there was no chance of impregnation.

This cynical practice evolved into liaison clones. Clones of humans. In the mid twenty-first century fish and other animals were cloned for food after overpopulation, pollution and overuse wiped out most animal and plant life. There was the usual _'Against the will of God! Man was not meant to meddle! Infidels, etc, etc'_ rhetoric, but that mostly vanished when millions in the developed, 'advanced' countries started starving to death. Later humans were cloned, aged to maturity in accelerated growth tanks and programmed with whatever knowledge was necessary for their function, at first it was combat; clones made excellent weapons to crush religious terror groups and made excellent cannon fodder for quagmire wars over the tiny amounts of valuable natural resources Earth had left. Later they were used for slave labor and prostitution. Of course, people didn't call it prostitution because clones weren't considered living beings.

The liaison, the clone consort named Number 52, watched the woman standing while standing completely naked. He wasn't designed or programmed to feel love, or even lust and he watched Violet casually strip unaffected by her slender physique.

When Violet was naked, she turned and saw the also naked consort; the liaison business was stocked full of commodities with selected physical characteristics, exact height, size, ethnicity, hair and eye color, strength and stamina... all could be programmed into the vast clone production facilities and perused and selected by clients. Violet had chosen a male of impressive size 6 foot eight inches tall and built like an Olympian. She liked big men so they could have big effect on her when she used them whether she chose to be the dominant or the submissive. Along with his smooth, bronzed musculature the manufactured human possessed an abnormally large penis even though it was flaccid. 52 twitched strangely and Violet assumed he'd activated nerve stimulating cybernetics to arouse himself as his formerly limp cock grew stiff and stretched to a stunning twelve inch long monster- the size no doubt physiopharmaceutical augmentation and popular amongst those who liked painful sex.

Which Violet did.

The clone lay down on the bed, the contract they'd made stated she was to be the dominant one- Violet was a switch- mostly dom but submissive on occasion, but given that she was a bossy, cold-hearted bitch ninety-nine percent of the time in real life she figured to go with what was natural.

V stepped onto the bed, stepped above 52, stopped with her feet on either side of his head, then without word she sat down on his face.

 **-X-**

 **Hours later...**

Finally it was over; they'd been at it for five hours. She stretched her long limbs out, as she directed, the sex (she'd never made love since her husband was taken from her) was with her in the lead but forceful responses from the liaison.

Violet breathed in and out, she slowly swirled her tongue around inside her mouth, not in some kind of submissive game but to feel the revulsion of the semen in her mouth, remembering the warm, foul liquid spurting down her throat. She slowly licked up and down her long limbs almost cat-like, her tongue picking up on her salty sweat and something else.

Negative emotion was better than no emotion and only murder and fucking made V feel anything these days.

Violet had got what she came for.

After taking another half minute to get her breath back and take a couple of meta energy pills Violet transferred the second half of the payment (half before, half after) to his bio-chip (a credit card in his arm- tiny and keyed to DNA and bio-energy).

They both showered, despite sharing one shower stall and being naked they didn't touch each other except brushing one another to get something else. No comments of the others beauty or the wonders of the previous few hours were exchanged.

They stepped out of the shower stall together. The pair, one a model-gorgeous woman, the other an Adonis-perfect male redressed almost mechanically.

Standing face to face, they concluded their business.

There were still no words between them.

Violet stepped out from the room, the bedsheets had smart fibers that had already absorbed or dissolved the sweat and sexual juices spilt into them, the room's atmospheric controllers had already compensated for the stench of sex, replacing it with a chemical compound that was supposed to smell like some kind of extinct flowers.

Hemophage resistance member Violet Song Jat Sharif left the artificial world and re-entered the shining unnatural city to focus on the other thing that made her feel something; killing.

* * *

 **AUTHORS NOTES**

I found this recently in a draft on a memory stick I misplaced- I suppose it represents the Ultraviolet movies disconnect from humanity or maybe societal isolation or modern alienation.


End file.
